


Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss

by alliedwolves



Series: Timelias Timeline [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Disassociation, Mind Control, Overwriting of self, Tim learns he doesn't get to blow up with the stranger because Elias was concerned about a tattoo, but how does this effect elias bouchard????? please think about elias bouchard!!!!, canon typical angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliedwolves/pseuds/alliedwolves
Summary: Tim is Less Than Impressed. How can Elias have made his worst fear something so mundane, and yet still so fucking terrifying?Peter meets Jonah Magnus's new body, and they discuss exactly why he 'jumped ship' into Tim.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Series: Timelias Timeline [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647124
Comments: 16
Kudos: 96





	Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss

The Magnus Institute had been Tim's job for a number of years, now. The supernatural beings that plagued its visitors had pressed on his life far longer, ever since the Great Grimauldi had stolen his brother's fascination, and then his skin, eating everything he was and becoming a part of a gruesome dance. The dance he _would be stopping,_ right now, if not for his boss doing... something.

The details were hazy but the intensity of Elias's eyes, burning into him and sealing him off from his hands, he couldn't forget. That, or the sheer weight of the fear pressing into him, as someone else moved his hands, his legs, lifted him off the ground. He had screamed, he knew that much. 

Danny hadn't had a chance to scream. 

Danny hadn't had to watch Elias Bouchard, dullest man alive, do his fucking paperwork, either. 

It was like being worn as a skin, but being very much aware. Whether or not Elias could hear him, he didn't know: something that felt as natural as a closed eyelid seemed to separate him off from his boss's mind. All he could do was hope that that eyelid was an eyelid on Elias's side too, not something more akin to a two way mirror, where Tim could be Seen, but couldn't see. All he could do was look where Elias was looking, hear what Elias could hear, and watch as his hands signed and sorted sheaf after sheaf of Institute paperwork. There wasn't even anything here about the Stranger, or any other circus themed stuff at all. 

It seemed like hours: it wasn't like Tim could check his phone, or a clock. The only clock on the desk faced outward, and Elias didn't look at it, it seemed like he was going through this roster, that invoice, these incident reports for artefact storage with every ounce of enjoyment Tim would get from climbing a rock wall, or kayaking a river: utterly engrossed with no time for anyone else in his solitary survey of the workings of the Institute. 

There was a sound like a sigh, off beside the bookcases, and Elias didn't turn to look. Tim couldn't see what it was either, as a result, even out the very periphery of Elias's eyes. He still thought of it as his body, but they were very much Elias's eyes. The sound dissipated quickly, a single, solitary sigh with nothing to accompany it. 

A cheery voice started speaking, where the sound had been. 

"Hullo Elias, o-Oh! I do apologise. And who might you be now?" 

The voice sounded like a cheerful uncle who'd done horrendous things in the Merchant Navy and now sold cars. Tim had no idea what the man looked like. Elias had put his pen down, the silvery-brown fountain pen an oddly close match for the worm scars that dappled Tim's forearms where they rested, fingers outstretched, on the desk. Elias didn't like this guy, then. 

Good, thought Tim. I hope he comes by often. 

"The name is Timothy Stoker, now." Elias said, the smooth, precise intonation with its crisp consonants still strange in Tim's higher, and previously relaxed voice. Tim wanted to shudder. Tim didn't get much of a say, from his vantage point. 

"Timothy. Suits you!" the voice said. At long fucking last, Elias turned Tim's body to face the spooky arrival dude.

Said man drank in his appearance... weirdly appreciatively. "You're looking well, I must say. Though it's a bit early, isn't it? We were just starting to be of an age, you know." 

"Plans change, Peter. I had pressing reason to need to... move forward in my acquisition. Though it _has_ provoked Jon into action quite admirably. Perhaps I should have done so earlier." Elias's chair swivelled smoothly, and he remained put as the nautical looking older gent scooted over on an old-fashioned ottoman with practised ease, cheerily smiling with an odd fondness at the _unwilling fucking stranger Elias was sitting in._

"Were you finally sick of being shorter than both me and your Archivist?" Peter asked good naturedly, and Elias pursed his lips, before letting at an honest to god _non-sinister chuckle_.

OH. 

Tim retracted his previous thought. He wanted Elias and this Peter guy to never meet again, if only so he never had to hear them do weird flirtatious discussions about, and using, what was his body. 

"As much as I chafed in being swept off my feet by you, I have no doubt you could still manage it with Timothy. No. If you _must_ know, I moved the plan forward due to Timothy's intention to break the institute's code of appearance. He hoped it would get him fired, or killed. As he's discovering, sadly neither is the case." God. Tim hoped his voice had never sounded that smug. 

"Surely you didn't make Elias die at 54 just because Timothy planned to shave his head, Timothy. That would be rather too hands on, on too little provocation. Well, for you, anyway." 

They both chuckled appreciatively. Tim felt sick. 

"No, in this case it was a tattoo. Just above his bottom." 

The old sailor laughed. 

"A tramp stamp? Elia- Timothy, what a terrible decision. And a wonderful idea. Next time we make a bet with low stakes, that ought to be your forfeit. Anyway--" 

Tim checked out of the conversation completely, forced to hear but not to comprehend. As well as he could, he screamed, shouted, but nothing escaped, his body still entirely at the will of another driver. He sat in the passenger's seat of his body, strapped in tightly, as Elias joked with Peter, made them both whiskeys and made them _badly,_ and generally had the most boring good time imaginable with an insufferable lout who seemed to think it _cute_ that Timothy was stuck here, in this witnessing place, for the ease of his boyfriend.

At least he couldn't feel anything. That made the kissing, and the biting, bearable. 

There was a lot of both. 


End file.
